The Coat of Eärendil
by Lothithil
Summary: 1st Age Middle earth. This story details the creation of the coat of mithril that Idril of Gondolin had made for her son, told from the point of view of Morlothiel the DarkElf. Honorable Mention MEFA2009 Times: First Age and Prior: General. Thank you!
1. Chapter 1 Gondolin

**The Coat of Eärendil  
**by Lothithil

**  
**_A DarkElf Adventure in the 1st Age  
(using material gleaned from the Silmarillion and The Lost Tales) _

**Chapter One, Gondolin**

In the Square of the Palace, many mighty trees grow. There is a vast oak with branches like arms, and they lift their leafy burden high above the rooftops of all but the wondrous towers. I enjoy sitting in their embrace, looking down into the gardens and sparkling fountains as the city falls away.

I have been longing to be in the forest again. The city and tame groves are lovely, but I miss the airs and shades of the dwelling of great trees, the feel of bark scored by antlers and lighting, limbs heavy with moss and mistletoe. I had petitioned the king to allow me to roam the forests that grew on the Encircling Hills, and he had given his conditional consent: that I stray not outside of the watch in the Hills, and that I report immediately any sightings of enemies or strange occurrences. Readily I agreed, and lingered now only for the setting of the sun, for in its height it beats off of the white marble and dazzles my eyes. I would go first to the House of the Golden Flower and bid my Lord farewell, and then to the trees.

But to my shaded eyes a marvelous image comes. Walking down the street, I see a tall elf-lord taking small strides for a tiny figure walks beside him, his arm stretched up to hold the hand of his guardian. Even from the distance I can see the bright light of their beauty as they come under the many bowed bridges of crystal along the Way of Arches, dressing them in ribbons of light that fall like streamers. I hear them speaking as they reach the Square and Eärendil stops to play in the clear water.

"Where is she, Lord Glorfindel?"

"I know not, my prince. We shall seek her next in the Court of the Fountain. Maybe she is there, listening to Ecthelion play his flute."

"Maybe she has already gone." The boy seems saddened by that. My heart bends to see his joy lessened, so I drop from my perch, landing in a whisper of leather on the grass.

"Maybe I can help you find your prey, my bonny prince. I am accredited with some skill as a hunter."

Eärendil laughs to see me appear, and he runs into the harbor of my arms. "I found her! Look, my lord!"

"Aye, she has fallen from the trees like ripe fruit on a windy day," said Glorfindel with a smile. His eyes are coloured like lapis, and are full of laughter and pride.

Eärendil climbs up to ride on my hip, clinging with a tight hug to me. I lift him to my shoulders to ride, and he puts his little hands over my blinking eyes to keep out the bright sun. Glorfindel steers me with a light hand on my elbow.

"Why am I the object of a hunt, my lords? Have I failed to appear at a promised appointment?" I ask merrily, not really caring where I was going in such good company.

"Mother wants to see you. She sent me to find you," Eärendil said into my ear. Even blind I can see the brilliance of him.

"It is my honour, then," says I, and I tickled his chubby knees with my hands, electing giggles and pleas to stop.

I feel Glorfindel squeeze my arm, and between Eärendil's fingers I see the king's nephew watching our little parade from a window that opens to the Square. The shadowy recess hides nothing in his face. Envy and hatred were naked there, and I touched Eärendil protectively, feeling the weight of that regard as we passed beneath the arches.

Idril was waiting in a small garden that Tuor had built for her overlooking the south of the city and the wide green plain of Tumladen. Tuor was there with her and also Voronwë, Tuor's steadfast companion. As we enter the garden, I release Eärendil to run to his mother for a hug, then to his father who swings him round. Glorfindel's hand is still on my arm, and I see in his eyes delight as he watches the play of father and son.

Idril greets me, pressing her cheek to mine and seating me next to her. The menfolk wait until she sits down before taking their own places. Eärendil trots to the corner of the flowerbeds to watch some butterflies dancing over the fragrant blooms.

"Thank you for joining us, dear friend. I have needed to speak with you, and hoped to catch you before you left on your sabbatical."

Idril looked at me with her grey eyes, like pools of liquid silver they were, and deeper than the call of the night. I remember the look in her eyes when we first fenced; a look of calculation as thought she were measuring me. Now the look she gave was less judgment of me, more as if she were searching. She was trying to think of how to say what was on her mind. I let her think, watching her son at play.

"Do you love Eärendil, Morlothiel?" she asked softly, and I turned to her in surprise.

"Of course! Who can not love such a child!"

"It is because of that love you bear him that I have asked you here today. I need your help to protect him."

"I am completely at your service, my friend." Who threatened Eärendil? I thought fiercely. I felt as though my claws were coming out.


	2. Chapter 2 Service To Love

_In Gondolin, the City of Singing Stone, there are hearts filled with doubt for the future of the Flower of the Plain. Idril, mother of Eärendil the fair, plots with her husband Tuor to protect their child and their beloved people from the Fate which Ulmo spoke through Tuor. They decide to enlist a friend in their scheme..._

**Chapter Two, Service To Love  
**  
With a barely perceptible nod from Idril, Tuor and Glorfindel picked up their harps, and Voronwë raised a flute to his lips. A music they wrought then that seemed to drown out the sounds of the city beyond. Eärendil laughed and clapped his hands.

Idril sat next to me close, and her words were for my ears only; we sat as if together in a room of private thought. She said to me, "What mother does not wish to defend her child? We dwell in the heart of a fortress of strength, safe from all of Morgoth's dark thought. The king will not hear of the possibilities of its ruin. And when I look upon it, my own mind rejects the thought.

"Yet my heart is darkened. So I have persisted in encouraging the construction of a secret delving of escape, against the word of my father and Maeglin. When the time comes, there shall be a way out for my people.

"Glorfindel upon his returning from Doriath, had brought news that the Naugrim, clever always in the working of earth and ore, had discovered a rare metal in their delving in Hadhodrond. A fair substance that is stronger than steel, but can be wrought into a garment as light as linen. Of this precious material I have commissioned a shirt be made for Eärendil. Far I had to reach to find ways to bring this request to Hadhodrond, and at last we contacted Celebrimbor who did bring the order to completion, having many friends among the Naugrim in Hollin. But he cannot bear it hither, nor can it be delivered, nor will Turgon my father permit anyone to leave on an undisclosed errand, now that enemies have been sighted beyond our hills.

"Glorfindel we had planned would do this task, when he next went forth on an errand for Turgon. But now he would be missed if he left, and no other who has leave to depart Gondolin is privy to our secret. I am in need of a swift and fearless hunter to take on this task, and I know of none I trust more than thee, Morlothiel."

Eärendil comes to me and lifts a biscuit to my mouth, wanting to share his sweet treat. He takes from me my knife; in his small hands it becomes a sword. Carefully he strikes the guard positions his father has taught him. Silver gleams off of the sharp curves of the blade's leaf. The music continues unfaltering.

"I would speak plainly with you, _gwaithiel_. You see my son, dancing to his father's music? What would you do to see him safe from harm?"

"I would give my life to protect him, Idril." I am surprised and stung that she would even utter this as if she doubted my loyalty.

"That I knew before I spoke, Morlothiel. Do not think that I misdoubt you. I would ask this great favour of you, and it is a dangerous thing I would ask. Would you to forth from Gondolin in secret, and return unseen, keeping your council as you have always done, even from the ears of the King?"

Though great indeed was this asking, I agreed solemnly that I would do as much, for I knew well the risk of speaking freely to the king when dark ears listened. "My lady, say no more. All that I have is my life and my freedom. Both I would give for the sake of your son."

Idril raised her hands then, and the music played aloud again, for the men changed their tune, and I heard again the birds singing in the city and the play of the many fountains. Voices drifted down again from over the walls.

Tea we took, then, and the menfolk served us as is the gentle custom of Gondolin in peace, and we laughed as Eärendil brought a tray of sweets from the kitchen, walking carefully so as not to tumble.

After tea, the little lord Eärendil climbed upon my lap, and from his blue eyes arrows did fly into my heart, piercing it with love. "Teach me the ways of your hunting, 'Lothiel," he said.

I laughed and let him lead me to the open garden. "You would learn the way of the hunt, my lord? You must discard your thoughts of victory, and think only of your hunger."

"But I just ate four scones! I am no longer hungry," said the child, and from his twinkling eyes I knew he heard me, but jested only.

I crouched and became as still as stoneshadow. "You have my knife. What would you do with it, if I attacked you."

"I would strike into the path of your movement," he answered correctly demonstrating the drill his father had taught.

"Excellent, Eärendil. But if I am within your stroke, you cannot turn your blade on me," and I leaped forward, bending beyond the arc of the sword as he swung, the flat blade shining in my eyes. I lunged forward inside of his guard, and wrapped him in a hug.

"You would teach me to embrace my enemy?" laughed Eärendil, as I tickled him. He dropped my sword and wriggled.

"Yes, but not affection shall you rain on him then, hunter. As the creatures of the woods shall you fight, with tooth and claw. When your enemy closes on you, let him know your hunger thus!" And I nibbled then on his rosy cheek, and then released him with a bow.

'_My life and my freedom, I would give for thee, little lord,'_ my thought did say to me. _'That is not too great a price. But I will not spend that coin yet.'_

She sent me away then; I went with Glorfindel out of the city. Once beyond the fair buildings and on the road, he spoke to me of plans laid, whispering in his soft voice so that none could hear. I listened and spoke not. I could say nothing to him that would not reveal my own secrets.

He released me as the sun dove behind the Hills, and I was swallowed by the trees. I had cast off the fair garb of Gondolin, and walked now clad in my buskins and fur. My feathered cloak covered me, and as silent as moonlight I sped through the night, climbing toward where the sky beckoned with open arms.


	3. Chapter 3 The Cairn of Fingolfin

_Maeglin, son of Eöl the Dark Elf and Aredhel the Daughter of Turgon, King of Gondolin; long have I been fascinated with his character. His tales are told in the Silmarillion, and in Lost Tales, and they are sad, as are all of the old tales of Elves. Here is some exploring I have done with his character from LT, and also a peek at another Old Elven Legend, Celebrimbor the son of Curufin, son of Fëanor. Please feel free to comment or muse. I am interested in everyone's viewpoint about these legends. _

**Chapter Three, The Cairn of Fingolfin**

Climbing the rugged hills was less toil than fording the river of thoughts that coursed through my mind. So many things might go awry with this effort, and yet I pressed on, no need to hurry but that I was eager to come to the height of this mound, and be assured that I had not been followed or espied. My hands and feet busy with the scaling of the rise; my back and belly itched as if feeling the tracks of eyes watching. Often I would pause, but no sound did I hear. Who could follow soundlessly up a vertical cliff but perhaps a serpent?

A hand I did not see reached down and clasped my collar, lifting me over the last boulder where I had balked. I was thrown down upon the graveled surface. A shadow unpaled by the gleaming stars stood there, and I saw the flash of teeth as he smiled.

Almost I called out to Tuor, whom I had suspected had somehow come ahead, perhaps more quickly along the secret way and had come before me to the rendezvous with further news. My words were stopped however, because I noted the blue gleam of steel in the figure's hand. I rose to my feet.

"A strange place you choose to come alone, dark elf," Maeglin said, and he leaned against great stone that was piled upon one side with many smaller stones. "Why have you come to the Cairn of Fingolfin? This place is sacred to Turgon; the grave of his father is no place for idleness or mischief."

"I have my lord's leave to come here, Maeglin," I said by way of answer, and with cold restraint wrestled my panic into a dark corner of my soul. "Get you back to the city before your fear makes you craven in the night. As you say, this is no place for mischief."

Maeglin swung his sword idly, cleaving small rocks with the whispering blade as though they were balls of bread. "I thought it strange that you should come out of the city alone for a time. What business could you have in the Hills? Perhaps you go to meet enemies and spill the secrets of Gondolin that you have espied in these years; so I have counseled the king. Are they to meet you here, or do you have to give signal? How can you betray the people who took you in and husbanded you in your barbarism?"

High above our heads, the stars marked the time between sun set and rise as middle-night. I saw occluding movement that caused them to wink out and reappear. "I am no thrall, as well my Lord Turgon knows," I retorted, unable to keep all anger from my voice, "Look not for my reflection in the mirror of thy guilt."

His voice hissed, a threatened viper's rattle: "Do you accuse me? How dare you!" He raised his sword and I dove to the ground, for I had noted the rapid approach of the raptor behind Maeglin's oblivious back. I heard him curse as it struck, and the clatter and complaint of his sword as it bit the stones. He was borne over the edge of the shelf, tumbling to a steep fall. I could only hope that it was a fatal one. I had no time to insure his demise.

I did not look after him but leapt up and ran, lest others in his employ lingered unseen. To the top of the great mound of stones did I leap, and there spread my arms to receive the gift of flight.

As silent as an owl did the Eagle return, and his talons closed vice-like upon my arms, wrenching me into the black air. The wind of our passage bit me, and the claws had creased my flesh, but I did not feel the pain of this as vertigo and darkness enfolded me in wings of forgetfulness.

All of the details of this adventure are not mine to share, and though someday the full tale may be known, it shall not be I who discloses it. I will say only that though you may clad an Elf in feathers and teach her to fly, she is not a bird. The thin airs above the earth are not her home, and her bones are not hollow.

More grateful than a Dwarf for a lode of ore was I when my feet touched down again upon the soil, however may leagues upon leagues I had traveled. Limbs crippled with cold I fell to the earth, and my eyes were all blackness for a long time.

When sight returned that was not memories unbidden of darkness, I saw before me a strange face lit by hearth or candles. My flesh felt all afire, as if I was set amid coals. Weakly I stirred and hands did assist me to sit. Water to my lips was cold and delicious. I drank for a long time.

"You must have the very heart of the Stone City beating in your breast!" spoke the face, and as my vision unclouded I saw it was a fair face that was lit as though within by a golden lamp. "I am Celebrimbor, smith of Nargothrond. I am a friend of Glorfindel."

He was of impressive stature, a tall elf not slim and willowy as the archers and their bows, nor the swordsmen and their rapiers. He was thick with muscle, and his skin was dark with working near heat ceaselessly. His hands were large and strong, and his hair was pulled back in a tight bind, braided and long down his back. It was golden white in colour.

We were in a cave or delving, and it was cool and dry with a fire that burned against the wall and vents that carried the smoke away. A dark tunnel opened to either side, dwindling to inky mouths that carried on echoingly. I was lying on a pile of furs and thick blankets.

"This is one of the ore mines near Nargothrond. A remote area that is difficult to reach and has been mined out long ago. We have been using it as a locale for our negotiations with the Dwarves. Recently it has become a forge and now a sickroom. Tell me, did you understand all that you would endure, when the Lady Idril set you this task?"

I laughed as I levered myself upright. "The things we do for the love of our family; what is there to understand? I could do this thing, and no other. But I am unsure: Why am I here, and not in Doriath? My lord did instruct me to go there."

"Our plans have been changed." Celebrimbor looked both annoyed and excited. "The true-silver that was discovered the Dwarves hoard jealously. They will not teach the making of the precious metal, nor suffer their artists to be observed. Long labour and trade have I made, over the many leagues between these mountains and Hadhodrond. At last, I persuaded one Dwarf to come here and make the garment, in this secret place. He works even now to finish the shirt, though he grumbles and curses constantly. By the time you are fit to travel again, it should be complete."

My limbs are shaking from holding me upright, but I force myself to move about. Eagle's claws have rent furrows in my arms, and I wind the shreds of my tunic over the wounds. Would that another easier conveyance could be found. "Little love have I for any who dwell in Nargothrond, Lord Celebrimbor. Too sharply I recall my Lord Finrod's abandonment by his people. I do not know you nor blame only you, but I am not pleased to be here, and may not have come indeed, had I know I came hither."

Celebrimbor looked sad and forlorn listening to the wrath in my voice. "I do not agree with the way of my father and his brothers. When they did turn his people against Finrod, I renounced my kinship with them. Let me not be remembered as a traitor and a throne-thief. I will have me away from here to Hadhodrond whenso I can. There is no future for Elves in the North while the sons of Fëanor feed the Oath." And the bitterness in his words cools my anger a little.

I stand in the semi-darkness watching Celebrimbor carving, thinking what welcome I could expect in Gondolin when Maeglin reported our evening constitutional.


	4. Chapter 4 Durin's Forge

_Okay, I know my time-line is all messed up, and things are occurring out of order. Bear with me anyway and follow the tale if you can, for it is really more of a musing on the events of the First Age rather than a chronology. Forgive the license that I taken and enjoy this chapter. _

**Chapter Four, Durin's Forge **

Days past as the work continued. Now that the forging of the metal was complete, Celebrimbor was permitted to assist the Dwarf-smith Durin as he wrought the rings that were to be woven. I was not allowed in the workroom, being both a strange elf and unskilled. I remained in the chamber alone with my thoughts. I wondered how much longer it would take for this article to be made, and how many more cycles of the moon would pass before I saw my Lord again.

Celebrimbor left occasionally to fetch supplies and news from Nargothrond, and so it was one day when he was away, I heard bellowing from down the tunnel that was out of my bounds. Durin was calling roughly for Celebrimbor's aid, and he not being on hand I crept down the tunnel to answer.

Heat and light blasted my face, and my eyes shrank from the sight of glowing coils of thick metal, hotter than coals, that cooled slowly into a thin spiral of metal. A fire burned in the forge that seemed to be filled with angry elements, spitting ash and sparks at the cursing dwarf that toiled nearby.

Durin looked at me with an unfriendly eye as always, but instead of chasing me away, he pointed to the bellows pump that stood idle. "Blasted fire's cooling! Get ye over there and man that pump! How am I to work in these conditions? You want a working of art, but I am given nothing to work with. Foolishness and folly!"

I hasten to lend a hand, and lifted and lowered the pump heartily to his direction. The heat increased and I felt as though I were baking like a lump of bread. Durin ignored the heat as if he could not feel it.

Finally he shouted for me to cease, then filled my hands with a strange tool like a rough knife. I was set to smoothing the edges of a mountain of tiny metal rings like polished silver. I did as he instructed, and the pile of rings melted away for as I completed each, he wove it into the garment of steel he was making.

Even half complete it was a thing of beauty. Each ring was not bigger around than the tip of my smallest finger, and so closely woven were they that not even a shaft of an arrow could pierce or thread the web. It shone like the surface of a windy lake in the bright sun, like a field of stars in a morning sky, impossibly fair and no heavier than silk. When my eyes came to linger on it, Durin shouted and turned me back to my task, but he was grinning when he thought I was not looking at him.

"No pearls," he grumbled, pawing through a box of precious stones and gems that sat on his worktable. "It ought to be wrought with pearl, like those that you lot brought back from the West." To Durin the Fatherless, every elf was from Valinor and the argument that I had never seen the Fair Shores drifted past his ears unheard. "Diamonds will have to do, but it should be pearl. Curse this shambles of a workplace! I need decent materials!"

He worked carefully, now not even noticing my attention. Beneath his hands the shirt grew, and he attached gems of white light and faceted stones that threw all colours like a fountain. My heart was gladdened that Eärendil would wear so fine a thing, but also my face darkened as other thoughts assailed me. It must be coming soon, this time that Idril feared, when her son would need protection that none could give. A thin barrier, however beautiful and seeming magic, between a young man with a destiny and an arrow or a sword.

Now time pressed upon me, as days past and Celebrimbor did not return. Durin prepared a food he called 'earth-bread' in the cooler corner of his forge, and it sustained us for all it was rather bland. I preferred eating the raw root, but he took the tuber from me and baked it, calling me a savage minx.

At last noise of Celebrimbor returning came, but it was an alarm to hear his running feet, normally silent as a whisper. He came into the chamber and his face was white as though he were but a ghost.

I leapt to my feet wondering if he was well, but he cried out his message all in a sob, "Nargothrond is no more! Orodreth is slain and a Dragon sits on the fortress of Felegund!" He covered his face and wept.

And so my wroth for that people did flow away to nothing, and my heart was bent, remembering the fair delving of Finrod. The time for fear had arrived.

_Celebrimbor, smith of Nargothrond, and Durin the Fatherless flee the ruins of the fortress of Finrod with the precious mithril coat that Idril has asked to be made for her son. Morgoth wreaks havoc about the lands that was once fair Taur-en-Faroth as the Dark Elf helps her friends to escape the net that Turin led Orodreth into._


	5. Chapter 5 Refuge in Doriath

_Celebrimbor, smith of Nargothrond, and Durin the Fatherless flee the ruins of the fortress of Finrod with the precious mithril coat that Idril has asked to be made for her son. Morgoth wreaks havoc about the lands that was once fair Taur-en-Faroth as the Dark Elf helps her friends to escape the net that Turin set for Orodreth._

**Chapter Five, Refuge in Doriath**

We set out along the tunneled ways toward Doriath as bet we could navigate. Durin refused to leave behind his tools, thought he readily abandoned his wealth of gems and materials. Only the few small precious ingots of _mithril_ did he store, along with the shirt nearly finished and his hammer and axe. I dreaded the noise that such a burden would make, but he carried himself and his possessions lightly, and at need he could move as silent as the shadow of an owl.

Celebrimbor walked at first in a daze. When we came out of the carven stone corridors, he would cast oft over his shoulder toward the smoking hills. Already he seemed defeated.

No luxury of mourning had I, but went ahead with weapons drawn, for orcs and wolves were thick as crows on carrion. Many stray folk did we encounter, and those that did not flee begged for help; maidens with children, or menfolk burdened with wound or lamed companions. As Celebrimbor beheld these refugees from Nargothrond, his will became firm and resolute again and he took from Durin his great hammer to use as a weapon, and it was fell and deadly in his hands. With each elf we collected to our ragged band he became more confident, and they regarded him as a lord and paid him trust and obeisance.

We forded the Sirion and came to the wood of oaks. For a moment my heart was glad, to be among those mighty trees again and hear their song. Bounders who watch the skirts of Doriath found us and led us onward. This was a great boon, for many were weakened and wounded and overcome with the grief they had seen. Thus did we come to Menegroth against all chance, and I stood before Thingol Singollo again.

Despite the soot and stain of battle he recognizes me, and welcomes me heartily. I was humbled and gave a knee to the gracious king and his beautiful queen. Melian descended from her dais and took my face into her hands, her eyes looking inside me. A smile then grew about her features, and she brought me to sit at the foot of her chair. She said to me, "For you, Dark Elf, enough labour and toil this day. Sit and rest and let yourself heal. Your greatest effort is yet to be required." I had no words to say. It was as though my tongue had left me again.

Celebrimbor did at the time beg refuge for his folk, for he had become a leader to them. Thingol embraced him and showed honour and welcome. It was at this moment that Celebrimbor first set eyes upon Galadriel, sister of Finrod Felegund who walks now in Valinor. In his heart was woken great love for her, but she was wedded to Celeborn, kinsman of Thingol whom Celebrimbor respected. Silent he kept his adoration, but plain it was to see in his face whensoever his eyes did light upon her, and plain to be heard when he spoke; he voiced a desire for a strand of her fair hair, which he likened to a finely spun strand of mellow gold. She denied him, as she had all the others.

Welcome in Doriath also did Durin find, and the Dwarves who dwelled and crafted there were ever respectful to him. He demanded a workroom and fine materials and was given them freely. "And pearls! As many as you have got!" he demanded. His face was then full of joy, as if no disaster or death could dampen his delight in the making of a beautiful thing.

Fully did I expect a reprieve from my conscripted duties, but Durin saw otherwise and refused all assistants but me to aid in his task. Celebrimbor was occupied with Thingol and councils of war, so I was ensconced in a hot cave with the Dwarf, this time sorting through a heap of glowing pearls. I would select one and hand it to him. He would examine it minutely before scoffing and tossing it aside or exclaiming and bending to apply it to the garment, the beauty of which seemed to double again at the touch of each sea-gem.

When would I see my home again, and my golden-haired lord? How would I come there through a sea of foes and with a dragon abroad? Despair did close my heart then, and all things around me ceased to be fair, and my friends wondered at the loss of my speech and the length of my face. My gaze was ever north and west, and my eyes on the sky for the sign of a feathered promise.

_Ah, the creation of one beautiful thing can lead to so much despair. When will we learn to take pleasure in the Nature of a thing; we must gather up all our skill and wring from Her bittersweet strands of sublime beauty, and forever after languish when they have passed. Woe that ever the Silmarils were wrought, but more woe if they had not! _


	6. Chapter 6 Another Fellowship Broken

_Ah, the creation of one beautiful thing can lead to so much despair. When will we learn to take pleasure in the Nature of a thing; we must gather up all our skill and wring from Her bittersweet strands of sublime beauty, and forever after languish when they have passed. Woe that ever the Silmarils were wrought, but more woe if they had not! _

**Chapter Six, Another Fellowship Broken**

It is finished.

Durin thrust the garment at me, dismissing me and the marvel he had just completed, his mind now only on thoughts of departure. Hadhodrond lay far to the south and he was ready to get him back there, for many works he had left unfinished when he had accepted this commission.

I lingered, unable to phrase my gratitude for his trust in me and his rough humour and strong hand that had helped us all survive. He cursed and bade me be gone, but as I turned with the shirt clutched to my heart, he stayed me with a hand on my arm.

He indicated me to kneel, and I did so with puzzlement. From an inner pocket he drew a thin wire ring wrought of _mithril_, such as was woven into Eärendil's coat. He took my chin firmly in his great callused hand and pinched the wire so that it bit through my ear, piercing the flesh to bind itself into an unbroken circle. Then I was propelled out of the room and the door closed behind me. I felt the blood trickling down my neck and it was as if I had been crowned; my heart swelled with pride. More than a treasure of armour had been wrought in the sweltering workroom of Durin.

Not long did my sense of elation last, for in the corridor beyond I encountered a woman who had waited for me. She clutched me with hands like pinching claws. Of the kindred of Haldor she was, Morwen named herself, and begged tidings of her son Turin who had been in Nargothrond at the coming of the Dragon.

"I knew him not, Lady," said I to her. "I dwelt not in the fortress nor came there for many long years, and I did not witness the fall." My arms were full of Eärendil's coat, so I raised no hand to ward off the blows she rained upon me in her desperate anger.

Nienor came forward and contained her mother. Slight she was, slender as an elven maid, but strong was her will and she restrained the sobbing woman who grieved for news of her son. "I beg pardon, Lady," said she, but I forestalled her, saying,

"Do not apologize for thy mother's distress. If my flesh were torn and taken from me, I, too, would be aggrieved. But in truth I say, I have not seen thy brother." Tears of blood glided down my cheeks, and Morwen repented her own deed and gently wiped the cut she had made on my face.

Thus disheveled and ragged I appeared before Celebrimbor, who had asked for tidings of the progress of the crafting. He looked at me with wonder.

"How many servants of the Enemy did you slay to obtain such wounds, Morlothiel? I have seen you shed less blood after a skirmish against ten!"

I laughed and held out the bundle of cloth wherein Durin had careful placed the coat in concealment. "It is complete, my Lord Celebrimbor. I must now find a way to return thither to fulfill my task."

"So soon. And I once had hopes to journey with you but now my place is here, guiding my people. I am taking them down the Sirion when winter is past, to find Cirdan the Shipwright and join his folk. Then I will go on to Hadhodrond where Durin has promised me an exchange of craft and lore. I will make a kingdom there with those who would accompany me." His eyes did drift from my face then, and I knew he saw golden hair and fair skin rather than my own plainer features.

I knew that he was sore of heart that Galadriel refused him her favour, and that dwelling in Doriath would bring him no peace. "I would that you might meet Rog of the House of the Hammer of Wrath," I said. "Great is his lore and strength and yet more mighty is his heart. You might find forgetfulness in the Flower of the Plain."

His face was sad and full of light, and I saw about him like a garment a shadow of fate; my eyes seemed to trick me and look beyond time and distance, revealing a destiny glorious and terrible to behold. My tongue was cloven to my mouth so that I could not speak.

He raised my hand and kissed it, then touched my ring that glowed against my raven hair. "Durin has bid you farewell, I see. No grand gift have I to give you for your friendship and aide. I hope beyond foresight that we might meet again. I am for another Age, when madness is spent and lore and craft are again celebrated. This war is not for me, nor for you. Will you not come away from here to Beleriand? I fear for you, journeying north."

I cast down my eyes. My vision hung before me and I could not speak of it. "I have my errand before me, lord. And my heart dwells in the north. Perhaps someday we shall meet again, for I know that Lothengriol will not always flower. But when and how I may come there is unknown to me."

His smile returned, and he stroked back an errant lock of my hair. "Yet we are both _Eldalië_, are we not? If not in Beleriand or some other fair land, we shall meet beyond the sea; that is one journey that one day all must embark upon. We cannot hope to escape each other forever." And with these gentle words spoken with laughter, we parted.

Long in my dreams did the fate of Celebrimbor play for me, and often did I stave off sleep to escape that vision.


	7. Chapter 7 The Black Blade

_Melian of Doriath, the Maiar who loved Greymantle; Turin Turambar, fated to be mastered by fate and his blade that was once Anglachel, forged by the father of Maeglin... DarkElf does know how to choose her company!_

**Chapter Seven, The Black Blade**

I left Doriath as quietly as possible. Clad in my skins and feathered cloak again, traveling lightly and swiftly as a sparrow's flight, I focus all of my awareness on the forest. Marchers and bounders mark all the ways into and out of that land, and the Girdle of Melian withstands the cunning of Morgoth still. To avoid their notice I creep and climb, stalk and slide, sometimes moving no faster than the shifting of the shadow of a tree to work my way past their watchful eyes.

The mail shirt rides in a pack that I have secured across my trunk and light as it is, still it is unwieldy. Much of my patience I must pay to keep it safe. I am very aware of the importance of its survival; more vital than my own. But I am the conveyance and so though I do not wear it, still the coat of Eärendil protects me.

I have won my way to the edge of the grove of mighty oaks, where once I lingered in idleness. Still I marvel at their slow wisdom and voices. I would that there were trees such as this in Tumladen!

I become aware of another. Luminescence casts my shadow before my feet and I turn to find Melian following. I swiftly kneel and she raises my head with a touch. She is lovelier than any living thing; her eyes are moistly radiant.

"I felt thy presence in the Girdle, dark elf. Wardens and guards can be circumvented, but not my eyes. Whither goest thou?"

"My queen, I am bound to return from whence I came, on an errand most important. I cannot tell more, for the lives of those I love bind my lips with secrecy."

"Say no more, I know thy purpose. It is foreseen by the Wise, and so you shall be aided in this by Powers beyond the world. I ask only to learn how wouldst thou return?"

"I know not, Lady. Yet I must try and in the seeking find such help as you describe. To remain in one place is to be defeated."

"Your words are full of the wisdom that Kings should heed," spoke Melian, and she gave me a small bundle that she bade me take with her goodwill. "This is _lembas_. Eat of it sparingly. It will serve you on your journey. No other food will you require so long as you consume it solely. May you find speed, and chance favour you."

I accepted the gift, and she disappeared into the trees as mist before the sun. Blinking as I come out from the shadows of the trees, I head out into the wild lands.

Speed I found, but chance eluded me, and though I moved with all the stealth I had learned, still I was encountered often by roving bands of orcs and bandits. Little interest was I to the latter, for I bore no equipment that they recognized as useful. The orcs I slew or fled from, counting on my swiftness and woodcraft. It served me well, until I was found by a large band of orcs, returning with prisoners to Angband. I was surrounded before I could flee, and thrust into the cluster of frightened and distressed captives, Elves and some Men who were gathered from the ruin of Nargothrond. My captors were hasty and unwise, for they did not despoil me but bound me with cords. I heard their speech; they were concerned about a band which pursued them intent on rescuing their prisoners.

Closer I came to death that night than ever before, and to neither skill of mine nor hand of fate can I accredit it, but only to Turin Turambar. He and his band followed and slew the orcs; freeing all of us and bidding us go to the refuge of Doriath. Turin looked into all the faces of the captives, but found not the one he was driven to seek.

He looked at me and saw that I was not a refugee of Nargothrond, and for a moment he was puzzled. I returned his regard, then knowing nothing of him or the weight of his curse. I refused to turn back toward Doriath, but took my chance and slipped away in the confusion of movement to continue my journey. Ten paces maybe I came before I was stopped by a blade level with my throat, and I recognized that black blade and heard its whispering song, an echo of the cursing of the Elf that forged it.

"Seek you to betray your own people, elf? Has the Dark One already enthralled you? I shall slay you now before you go another pace, and leave you for none to grieve."

"Slay me if thou will, _Mormegil_, but know that in doing so you take not one life, but two. Your sword sings for my blood, as it did when you slew Strongbow your friend."

Turin started, and grabbing my hair he bent my head back and said fiercely, "How do you know these things?" His teeth were bared like a wild beast.

"I hear the voice of the sword. It speaks in the tongue of my people, the _Morquendi._ It tells of its history and the reaping it has done, the names of its victims and the lives it hopes to claim. Feed it if you will, but I swear I am no thrall. Thy black deeds may someday be cleansed from thee, for thou art indeed cursed. If you do this thing, then you condemn all folk to thralldom who do not escape to the West."

His blade that shone lay against my neck, and he hesitated long as he pondered my words. A voice called behind us; one of his men hailed for him to come. The trail of another band of orcs had been uncovered.

Turin released me and lowered his sword. "Seeking Finduilas is my errand set, to fulfill a promise to a fallen comrade. Against my judgment I will not slay you, but you must tell me whither you are bound."

"All of the strength of Gorthaur could not wring from me that tale, mortal. Use thy blade or sheath it; is there no limit to the lives thou would disrupt? What is the life of one more elf to a slayer such as thee?"

He turned away then, sheathing his protesting blade and I wasted no time but gathered myself and ran. The words of the sword-song echoed in my mind and I felt time press on me.

Far above my head, an Eagle circled, but I could not see him for the smoke of the burning of Glaurung.


	8. Chapter 8 Borrowed Feathers

_Bearing the shirt of _mithril_ that Idril ordered made for her son Eärendil, Morlotheil hurries to find a way to return to the Hidden City. A bit of a challenge, since she knows not where it lies exactly, nor the paths that are secret that might lead her in. The hands of the Powers alone can guide her steps as she presses on, burdened less by the Coat than the weight of her hope and doubt._

**Chapter Eight,** **Borrowed Feathers**

Furtive and fleet, I wound my way through the wild lands beyond Doriath and ruined Nargothrond. Hard is that road, and not far would I have made my way but for the gift of Melian's bread. What water I could find was fouled, but managed by craft to find a few places where fresh springs founted. Animals have fled the burning and the droves of orcs that plague the plains. Lying in a burrowed hole or cleft tree by night, I curse silently the wasted time. But then was the time when the eyes of the Dark One's servants are keenest, and only beneath the sun's pure rays do I have any hope to come to Gondolin unseen.

Slowly the mountains grew before me. Memory could not serve me unless I crossed the wide lands and follow the Sirion into the Dark One's territory; I had not come this way before. The forest of Brethil has shaded me somewhat, but before me now lies the land of Dimbar, and on my left the dark passage of the Sirion, where once I walked with Beren and Finrod Felegund. The thought of going there again makes my heart labour.

Ahead, beyond the river valley, high hills rise; part of the mountainous chain of Ered Gorgoroth. What lurked in those hill I cared not to discover, but perhaps their shadows might offer more protection than this naked plain. A dry riverbed offers some path and though my thirst is great and the memory of water there is old, I follow. Few enemies would I encounter in such wild and inhospitable places.

Was it Fate that guided my way, or some memory that was not my own? A day or two upon this road I heard above the familiar cry, piercing and welcome. A great eagle circled above me, and my heart rejoiced.

He came in low in the late afternoon; his great pinions flinging dust and gravel in my face. I hurry forward, aware of danger in the lurking-places; eyes and arrows that might at any moment take note and fly. He landed gracefully and turning his great curved beak at me, he spoke.

"Hurry, Child. Fell eyes are upon us, and I am too great a target to miss! Upon my back and with speed! Here are the foe!"

I leapt to his back, clinging with desperate strength as he lifted us off of the ground with mighty wing strokes. So great was the girth of his neck that my arms could not reach around, and I grabbed handfuls of feathers to stop myself from falling as he levered us into the air, labouring mightily. Less huge than the magnificent Thoronodor who bore me to Gondolin long ago, still this eagle was very large. His feathers were of a dark golden colour, and edged with creamy white. His breast was a flash of brilliance in the setting sun. Too great a target indeed, to my dismay.

Arrows rose from pits and caverns, and cries and calls of fell beasts and orcs sounded below. I heard the whistling of the shafts that came close, and I ducked low as they grazed and shattered shaft and vane. My mighty mount dipped suddenly, dropping several feet before labouring upward, lifting us beyond the flight of the cruel horn bows that chewed at us.

A piercing pain spoke in my shoulder, but I dared not move. The wind tore at me and pulled my feathered cloak back like small wings of my own. I felt the bulge of the shirt beneath me, safely pressed between my gut and the eagle. I felt something cold trickling down my right arm, and opening my eyes to water in the wind, I saw a great stain upon the golden feathers, soaking my sleeve and hand knotted in a fist.

The shaft of the arrow had pierced through the eagle's breast and come out to take me as a second target. Pinned together in pain, still we flew. The eagle cried out in his agony but soared on, and the hills flashed beneath us in the last rays of sunlight, showing me that we were high above the world. Clouds drifted below and rained our mingled blood upon the earth.

"_The mighty Eagles of the mountains are the hands and eyes of Manwë,"_ said the hen eagle to me once, and her voice returned to me now in my haze of pain. _"No movement escapes their eyes, 'tis said, and no words spoken in the wind escape the ears of that Lord of the West who sits on Taniquetil, the tallest of all the mountains in Middle earth. He listens and sees, and no sparrow falls that he does not note."_

When at last my heroic steed folded his wings in the air and fell, I was torn from him; the arrow was ripped out and we were separate. I fell through the air, a leaf far from my tree, and my cloak spread out behind me and caught the air like wings. As the clouds swallowed me and wept me upon the earth, it seemed to me that my heart flew still, and as the sun sank to Her rest on the distant west, my spirit arrowed toward Her, flying as if on borrowed wings.


	9. Chapter 9 Finding Hill

_In remembrance of those who have left us for their Undying Lands, dear JRRT and all those who we have come to regard as our family in Middle earth, I want to thank each one of you who share this love with me; a love of reading, and hearing tales of friendship and hope and sorrow which bind us more closely ever as we turn each page. More than a family you are to me, you are like facets in a jewel; reflecting all the different possibilities and faces that together make a thing precious and valuable, and utterly unique._

**Chapter Nine,** **Finding Hill**

Dropping through the strange density of clouds, my breath is torn from my body as my feathered cloak fills with air and jerks me roughly by the collar to a slower plummet. Woven shafts and webbed vanes catch the wind and I begin to spin sickeningly into a spiraling descent. I am blind through the clouds and when they thin and disappear the grey hills below are frighteningly close. Without hope or control I claw at the air and begin to tumble. My mind goes white in utter terror.

With an impact that shakes my teeth I hit upon a surface that yields beneath me. Gasping, I grasp with fingers wet with blood and feel the feathers cut as I slip and slide off...

...To fall on another downy back! A flight of Great Eagles has risen below me, and like a ladder they cross their great wings and the fledgling bounces from one to the next, buffeted by vast pinions that break my deadly fall. Finally I manage to grab a firm hold with one hand and stay my bruising journey. Gently the world soars downward, and I see above the golden wings of a phalanx of mighty birds, dim in the fading light of the evening. Their sharp eyes seem like yellow stars peeping early from the darkling sky. I close my eyes and focus my will to hold on.

I wake when I at last touch upon the cold stone, slipping from the feathered neck of the valiant bird that bore me earthward. Every inch of me feels bruised and burned, and lying still makes me strangely sick. I totter to my feet, leaning against the stones to praise their solidity and warmth. The eagle watches with impatience, clacking his beak at me.

"You are now in Heborodin, the mountains that encircle the Hidden City. Recover your wits quickly, for there are eyes even here. Where is your burden?"

My hand seeks the pack that bound the Coat to my midriff, but to my dismay it is gone. I sink to my knees, defeated. "My pack! It was in my pack! I must have dropped it when I fell."

The eagle shook himself, and with a great hop he cleared a place for another larger eagle to land. I observed the graceful entrance of Thorondor, King of the Eagles of Crissaegrim. "More luck than any other rabbit have you, dark elf. Shall I be always plucking your from your folly? Are you whole?"

I hug my useless arm to me, saying, "Lord, could it be that one of your sharp-eyed flock saw where my pack may have fallen? Without it my errand is failure and all sacrifices for nothing."

"Your burden fell into a crevice where we cannot reach. It is some distance from here; we will bear you as close as we can to it when the light returns. You must retrieve the Coat and return to Gondolin soon. Enemies fill the lands beyond the borders, and other eyes have these hills than ours. Rest now while the clouds hide the moon. See to yourself, dark elf."

Several chilly hours pass as I wait, left with the young eagle that had observed where the Coat lay after its fall. When the wind scooped away the clouds, he bore me up and drifted silently toward a stream that carved a ravine through the stone. Airborne, I look ahead and see nothing but more hills for as far as my eyes stretch. The eagle lands and dips his head; I dismount.

"You must climb down to find it, elf. It landed in the stream but came to a bar of pebbled stones some distance below a shallow fall. Go downstream from here to find it. I cannot bear you closer, nor carry you away. The stream is your path toward Gondolin; keep the sun behind you. The Hidden City lies yonder," he scored the stone with an adamantine talon, a deep line pointing north-by-west as I reckoned. "If it were possible for you to climb back, I would wait, but without your wing, I cannot see this done. Farewell, elf! We will be watching, though what help we can give I cannot guess."

"Already you and your folk have served the purpose well. My thanks to you and to King Thorondor and all the magnificent Eagles. Let it be that I survive this task and can someday serve you in return, for all that you have done for me."

The eagle bowed his head with a jerk, his eyes liquid in the starlight, "We serve only the King of the West. Your preservation was necessary. But I hear your thanks with a good heart and will bear your words. Farewell!" And he rose into the air and was swallowed by the night.

I scrambled down the ravine; steep but broken enough to find easy purchase even with my battered limbs. Once I reach the bottom finding the pack was easy, and I splashed noisily through the shallow rivulet of icy water to pick it up joyfully, digging into it to assure myself that the Coat was still safely inside. I fastened it to myself again, and slogging upstream I hurry to come home. My heart burns more than my wound, to see the White Lily of Tumladen and my golden-haired lord again. As the sun rises off of my left shoulder, I come to the issue of the spring, and now I must seek a way through the pathless hills.

For two days I scramble through gullies and over ridges, nibbling _lembas_ from my pocket and drinking fresh sweet water where I find it. On evening to my joy I heard singing distantly, coming it seemed from beneath the earth. I guessed that it must be delvers, seeking ore for the smiths of Gondolin to craft into their wondrous art. I contain my excitement; easily these could be folk of Maeglin's house, and though valiant and true they would report me to their lord and all efforts and sacrifices wasted.

I creep cautiously forward, and find a bowl of bare stone wherein a gathering of folk are taking repast, singing merrily. The smells of their larder make me dizzy with hunger, for the waybread of Melian satisfies the need of the body, but not the desire. To my further delight I see that they are not Mole Folk, but dressed in the livery of the Hammer of Wrath. Nearly sobbing with relief, I come forward and beg for help.

Before I can state my need, the delver-elves take me in hand. An elf who named himself Amon spoke to me urgently that his lord Rog, at the request of Tuor, had been setting his people about the hills searching for a missing elf. He sent a runner ahead to bring news to his lord and they gave me food and wrapped me in furs to bear me back to the city. They were not overskilled in healing, but the fresh water and waybread had worked much good on me. I relaxed in the arms of Amon as he lifted me easily as a bundle of straw; his strength from wielding hammer and pick making me a lesser burden than thought, as he jested to his mates. I clutched the pack with the precious shirt and let my prayers of thanks trickle free along with my tears. I was going home at last.


	10. Chapter 10 Reckoning

_Quoted from JRR Tolkien's The Book Of Lost Tales 2,  
Chapter III The Fall of Gondolin: _

_"...Idril arrays herself in mail, and seeks Eärendil. And that child was in tears for the strange lights of red that played about the walls of the chamber where he slept; and tales that his nurse Meleth had woven him concerning fiery Melko at times of his waywardness came to him and troubled him. But his mother coming set about him a tiny coat of mail that she had let fashion in secret, and at that time he was glad and exceeding proud, and he shouted for pleasure. Yet Idril wept, for much had she cherished in her heart the fair city and her goodly house, and the love of Tuor and herself that had dwelt therein, but now she saw its destroying nigh at hand, and feared that her contriving would fail..." _

**Chapter Ten, Reckoning**

We go by way of the delving that Idril had devised and come into the city in utter secrecy. In the courtyard beyond Tuor's house I insist to be set upon my feet, and Amon complies though his strong hand is on my arm as I walk to the door.

There comes out from the entrance ere we cross the threshold a tall shape running forward and I am engulfed in an embrace that robs me of wind and balance. Tuor would crush me in his greeting but for the gentle words of Amon. Slowly he releases me, and looking upon my ruin he hastens to lead me within. Amon follows with an amused smile.

Within awaits Idril and she cries out at my state, but I stay her dismay with a present I had longed to deliver. She takes the stained pack from my hands and without examining it places it aside and gently embraces me. "Years of worry I have endured for each hour of your absence. Thank _Eru_ that you have returned to us again. We feared for your life."

"It was a frequent concern of mine, lady," I said light-heartedly, though I leaned against her husband in my weariness. "But this task is not done. The secrecy of it must be preserved. Let no speech over this be heard. I will depart now and return to the city by the gate, and there answer as I must the questions of my absence. Let my silence be your example; do not let the lives I have taken and seen spent mean nothing."

I turn to leave, but pause at the sight of young Eärendil, roused from sleep by voices. His face is angelic with his sleepy eyes, and he is trailing a blanket from his bower. "Mother, what is the matter?" he asks, and then sees me. With a delighted laugh he rushes to me and leaps. I catch him with my good arm and we tumble, the softness of his kisses erasing all my pain. "'Lothiel! I have missed you! Are you back or am I dreaming still?"

"This is a dream, little prince. Go back to your bed and sleep. Would you deny yourself a visit to the house of Lost Play?"

"You are bleeding." Crimson stains his snowy gown and he lays a tiny hand on my shoulder.

"It is nothing. Why, I have taken more serious cuts whetting my own sword!" I kiss his dark hair, and as he runs away back to his room I feel as though a part of me runs with him. Will I ever be whole again?

Amon leads me back down the long tunneling, and frees me just inside the end, where bushes screen the entrance. I hurry out and run with all speed to distance myself from that secret place. Then I make my way toward the city, as the morning comes over the grey walls of Encircling Hills.

At the gate I am hailed by the guards, and they seem amused and impressed by my worn state. Ignoring their questions I pass within, but get no farther than the Square of Fountains before sable-clad elves intercept me.

"Lord Turgon will see you," they spoke, and looked upon me suspiciously. What tales Maeglin had told them I knew not. I followed them without a word.

To the Palace I am brought, led like a prisoner before my jury. Turgon is there, and at his side is Maeglin, with a glint of triumph in his eyes as he speaks to the King, "See this elf, my Lord, who did break your law and leave Gondolin to treat with Morgoth's servants! She returns to fetch more information for her master, and perhaps to cause damage from within the city."

Turgon looks sternly upon me, moved near anger at the thought of betrayal. I return his regard without defense. My hands are at my sides.

"What do you say to this charge, Morlothiel?"

My answer is silence.

"Further, my Lord," continues Maeglin as if to whet the king's ire, "This weapon was found on the southern marches." In his hands are the shards and bent hilt of my long-trusted blade, shattered by the fall from the sky. "And see her wounds, my lord. No elf could endure such ill treatment without telling all she might know! How long before Morgoth's armies march to our gate, traitor?" said Maeglin to me, and I saw in him that he believed his lies and was seeking to protect the city and folk therein. Not wholly corrupt was this elf, though in him I saw a darkness that could become a tool, if ever the Dark Rider found him. Pity I felt for him, bound by his fate to be forever outside, looking in at the happiness that he hungered for.

I spoke no word nor acknowledged him.

"Need you hear more, my Lord Turgon? By her silence does she confess her crimes. Let your law be carried out; is it not death to betray the location of Gondolin or to treat with her enemies? The stones that are stained with the blood of Eöl call now for hers!"

Turgon sat on his throne, and his face was grave. He waved for all to remain silent while he pondered. Maeglin watched me with a strange intensity, his eyes on my face as if he could look beneath the skin.

I waited, and inside my heart I felt a chill of despair as I tried to read my fate in the face of the king. I sought for the memory of that fair child for whom I fought this quiet battle, and the knowledge that he would bring something great to the world gave me composure. I was warmed, and a small smile took my face; a gentle reflection that Maeglin interpreted as scorn. He stepped down from Turgon's dais and struck me with his fist, throwing me to the floor.

"Hold!" Turgon rose and descended his throne. He looked upon Maeglin with reproach. "Am I not the King? Have I renounced my throne? Do not think that your closeness in our councils gives you leave to act for me. Step down, Maeglin!"

Turgon extends his hand and I accept it, and he raised me to my feet. From the torn clothing over my shoulder he plucks forth a golden feather once edged with creamy white, now rusty with blood. His face is a closed door to me.

Turning to the gathered lords, he speaks, "Other councils I have heard this past night, from the pinnacle of my tower," and I raise my eyes to that shining needle above, glimmering in the morning like frosted glass. "A messenger came to me with tidings grave, of the fall of Nargothrond and the movement of our enemies. And other news did he bring which I will keep to my own council. One eagle was slain as he sped on errantry for the Lord of the West whom we all revere, and this Thorondor said through his messenger: 'Let the hunter of your choosing tithe for Gondolin to support the nest of the fallen.' This I will do, for I owe much to the Eagles who watch our borders."

Turgon came close to Maeglin, who struggled to keep his face free of shock and distress.

"This is my doom: I choose this elf," and his hand did point at me, standing humbly before him. "Morlothiel is the most prolific hunter of all my people, and since she has no nest of her own to tend, she shall be the one who provides this tithing, until Lord Thorondor releases her from the _geas_."

Maeglin would protest, but Turgon said firmly, "I will not make sport of throwing dark elves from my wall, sister-son. This is my will. Find your peace with it."

"But my Lord," he stammered, and he pointed to my ear where the gift of Durin gleamed. "Where came she by that strange token? She wore it not when she faced you last, nor when I saw her..." and he bit off his words before he could implicate himself.

Turgon bent to examine the ring. "So, you are betrothed, dark elf? Strange place to display your promise! May I ask with whom you are plighted?"

The shadows that press my heart are lifted with the light voice that fills the hall in answer. "She is mine." Golden light and golden voice, my lord has come to claim me.

We stand outside the palace in the Place of Pomps, and the eyes of many folk are upon us, yet we heed them not. Darkly does Maeglin leave that place before us, and Glorfindel's voice is light with jest.

"'Tis said that the whole folk of Gondolin shooting with bows without stay day and night for many years still might not expend all the arrows we have hoarded. I would test that claim if Maeglin were the mark." I laugh as we walk down the Alley of Roses. "I understand your silence, Morlothiel, and I will honour it. But I have need to ask something of you; something that I have delayed too long." We come to an ivy-bound fountain and he stops our wanderings to speak earnestly.

"I spoke truth before the king, and yet I have not. For only now have I the will to seek your heart in this matter. Huntress, wilt thou be mine? Long have I lived in the world, and many Ages are there still to be seen. What days of bliss we have left to us I would spend with thee, if thou wills it." And he places in my palm a band of silver.

I look into his eyes and wonder how a lord of a great house could choose from among all the beautiful maidens in Gondolin, the most beautiful to be seen in any kingdom of elves gathered on the earth; choosing from among these lovely women one scarred and wild elf who is more skilled with a sword than a spinner, who could kill soundlessly but could not make music, and who values leaves over pearls. It seems he understands, and his face is smiling and open.

"Now, you are to obey my words," he began, and my face lit with rebellion that made him laugh and bow. "Harken, dark maid! Get you to the House and there rest and mend yourself. I shall take your part to serve the eagles until your wounds permit you. We have friends waiting for us there!" He takes my elbow and says no more, letting me take what time I need in the pondering of this proposal.

I close my fingers over the gift; is it possible to refuse?


	11. Chapter 11 Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The last few yards are still the hardest to scale. Burdened with ten hare carcasses it is less easy, but at last I manage to swing them over the top and pull myself up. On the wide ledge where I usually spread my offering of rabbits or other game there waits an old friend. His great beak is coloured like brass, and he clacks at me as I bow low before him.

"Dark elf, the fledglings you were bound to feed have this past two months left their nest to fly on their own. It is no longer necessary for you to bring food for them."

For the King of Eagles, I will lay aside my vow of silence. He knows all my secrets, and his motives are steered by Manwë who sees all. I say to him, "Then why is this ledge always clear of meat and meal when I return? Some seem still to benefit from my service."

Thorondor clacked again, his version of laughter. "Gwyen grows fat in her nest, sitting on eggs and weaving her down. Soon she will be too big to fly down and receive your gifts. Leave off your task; I release you from your _geas_."

I bow again to the Lord of the Eagles. "In truth this is the last trip I can make for a while. My own lord had declared that I shall be ensconced until the hatching of my own fledgling." My belly is not so great yet that it makes climbing difficult, but soon that exercise will be inadvisable.

"The wisdom of Ilúvatar escapes me," commented Thorondor as he helped himself to a hare, tearing it to pieces and swallowing the meat quickly. "That the Elf-children should be born without shells to protect them nor talons to tear their first meal! It is a wonder how you survive beyond your first days!"

"We cannot all be eagles. The eyries would crowd the mountain tops, and the skies would be black with the shadow of your wings, and rabbits would learn to use arrows and slings."

The golden eagle shook himself; a single feather flew free and drifted to rest on Fingolfin's Cairn. "No, tis better as you say, for us to be different. Go, dark elf! Bring no more rabbits for my lazy nestmate to consume! Go and tend your own nest. Do you need a ride to the valley, or have you finally learned to use that gift?"

I laugh and pick up the feather. It will make a handsome fetish to hang from the ring that adorns my ear. "No need to bother, my Lord. I have learned. _Namarie_!" I tuck the feather safely in my pack, and taking the edges of my cloak woven by the hen eagle, I spread my arms and let it fill with wind. Gracefully I glide from the summit of the hill far out into the Valley of Tumladin.

Thorondor's voice sounds above me as he paces my flight, "Once your have hatched your chick, see if you can bring up a nice haunch of venison!"

Looking down without fear now I see my shadow flying with eagle wings across the green plain. I soar to the ground and land lightly, waving on the eagle as he circles overhead.

_**The End**_


End file.
